“Dinner’s in ten,” I say, jerking a thumb at the open attic door. “We should probably go round up Rusty and help set the table.”
Daniel doesn’t move, so I turn and walk to the door but before I get two steps he catches me by the wrist and stops me.
“Wait,” he says. I turn.
My eyes lock with his, and suddenly I’m stuck under the intensity of his blue gaze. I can feel my heart squeeze in the space between my heartbeats, and before I know it, I’m back in his arms, our bodies pressed together, and he kisses me again.Chapter TwelveDanielI’ve been waiting years for this kiss. Six, I think, though as Charlie presses her lips against mine, as she goes on her tiptoes, as her hand settles against my hip and I pull her against me, fingers on her back, her mouth opening under mine — as all that happens, math’s not my strong suit.
I don’t have a strong suit. Not right now. Right now, I’m weakness itself, giving into impulses and fantasies and a wanting so deep I could swim in it.
She moves closer, presses against me. My hand finds its way into her hair and tangles there as our heads tilt the other way and my tongue meets hers, and she grips the back of my neck even tighter, drawing me down, and somehow two of my fingers find their way onto her skin against her back, under her shirt.
I am unmoored, swept away. I’m caught in a riptide as I push her backward one step, then two, guided by the vague notion that somewhere in this room there’s furniture and I want her on it and then Charlie’s pulling at me, the tide herself.
There’s a table. It shudders as I push her against or she pulls me against her, against the table, impossible to know which, and she tilts backward as I lean over her, my whole hand against her bare skin now, her fingers tugging at my shirt like she’s looking for a way in.
Then, suddenly, her hands are on my chest and she’s not kissing me anymore. Charlie shoves me away and I let her, standing up straight and taking a step backward, her hazel eyes wide.
Too late, I realize there were footsteps.
“Eli told me to come—”
The door swings open, and Levi’s bearded head pokes through.
“Get… you… for dinner,” he says slowly.
I say nothing. I couldn’t think of a word if my life depended on it right now. All I can do is watch the expressions moving over Levi’s face, like clouds across a clear sky, from surprise to confusion to reluctant understanding.
“Dinner,” he says again, unnecessarily, and then he’s gone. Footsteps thunk down the attic stairs and I shove one hand through my hair as I feel like a pool float, slowly deflating.
Except my dick. That particular part of me is so hard it feels like it might shatter.
Charlie and I turn our heads, look at each other again. She’s wide-eyed, nervous, her lips slightly parted and her hands perched next to her on the table, fingertips tented, like birds ready to take off at the slightest provocation.
“Fuck dinner,” I say.
It works. It gets a smile from Charlie, her hands flattening against the table, the uncertainty washing out of her face.
“We should go down,” she says. “Unless you want your family members tromping up here one by one and asking increasingly nosy questions about what we’re doing.”
“The door locks,” I offer, my voice low, even though I know she’s right.
“How long do you think that would work for?” she says, head tilted to one side.
“Maybe today’s the day they start respecting boundaries,” I say as she hops off the table.
“I wouldn’t put money on that,” she says.
The neck of her shirt has gone lopsided, and I tug it back into place over her bra strap, my fingers brushing her neck. Her bra’s black. I wonder if her panties match today, which doesn’t help my erection.
“Me either,” I admit.
She reaches up and moves a strand of hair off my forehead, her fingertips barely brushing my face.
I catch her hand again as she lowers it, pull her fingers back, plant my lips in the very center of her palm like a promise.
“Daniel,” she whispers, that single word filled with uncertainty, with a thousand possibilities both good and bad.
“Right here,” I say, my voice low, quiet, rough.
“That was weird,” she says, nearly whispering. “Are we good?”
“DAAAAAAAAAAD!” Rusty shouts, and I close my eyes for a moment. I love my daughter more than life itself, but sometimes I really wish she would chill.
“I said go see where they are, not scream at him,” my mother’s voice says.
“Coming!” I shout unromantically toward the door. Charlie clears her throat.
“Not like weird weird,” she says, her words rushed. “But, I mean, that was definitely not what we talked about and it was kind of sudden—”